To Dwell On Dreams
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Lost in the woods one night, Andre Kriegman enters an abandoned house and finds the Mirror of Erised.


**To Dwell On Dreams  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Well, fine! I'm going for a walk, <em>fuck<em> it, then!" Andre shouted, throwing the screen door open and letting it slam shut behind him.

"Andre, come back here! You _cannot_ talk to your parents that way!" Andre's father's clipped, German-accented speech, the accent exaggerated in moments of stress, followed him out the door.

"Andre! _Andre, kommt her_!" His mother, also fluent in German, would switch over to it at times, and she sounded even more angry and worried.

"Lass mich allein!" Andre called back, letting some of the anger go from his voice. "Ich gehe, lass mich _allein_! Ich komm zurück später!"

And with that he stalked off into the dark, vaulted the wooden fence and vanished into the woods. Once he was safely back behind a few rows of trees, Andre turned back for a look. His parents, though standing on the back porch and looking out into the yard with the floodlights on, were not calling for him anymore. This wasn't the first fight they'd had with their son, or the first time he'd stormed off. But when Andre told them he'd be coming back, he'd meant it. He'd always come back before.

His heart still racing, anger pulsing in his veins, Andre turned and made his way further into the woods. He was quieter now, taking care not to make very much noise. His parents would only let him go if they had no other choice.

**XX**

It was a warm night, cooling from a hot day, and Andre liked it just fine. It suited him, feeling heat lingering in the air that very much echoed the heat in his heart. He could feel it always now, whether it was smoldering cinders and ashes, or a burning, all-consuming inferno.

Andre had always been quick to anger, quick to seize on the inner strength that hatred gave you… but now, after all these years, he had come to not just tolerate it, but like it. In moments of depression or hardship, when someone fucked him over or life just decided to take a shit on Andre Kriegman, Andre had come to calling on hatred often. By now it felt good, keeping him warm and giving him motivation, keeping him going when all other means had failed. By now, hate felt like an old friend.

The latest shouting match in the Kriegman household- though, thankfully, there hadn't been many- was over Andre's stalling on college applications. Actually, his stalling on making any apparent effort to seriously look into his future. Andre had brushed them off so many times, sort of just nodded and said he was "looking into it", or "thinking about a few things". But when his father brought it up towards the end of dinner tonight, Andre's token response hadn't been accepted this time.

"What- what have you been doing, Andre?" his father had demanded, more frustrated than angry- but angry, nonetheless. "It has been all this time, the waiting, and nothing has happened! We ask, you tell us, 'give me time', and we give you time, and nothing happens!"

Andre hadn't just gotten annoyed. He'd gotten angry. He ended up standing up so fast he knocked his drink over, shouting that he had enough people "pestering me about my fucking future," and that he didn't need two more. That had led to a sharp rebuke for swearing from his parents, and then Andre storming out the back door.

He'd been angry- very angry- but oddly enough, as Andre walked, he realised there'd been more to it. Unable- and, to some extent, unwilling- to rein in his volatile temper, Andre would either engage or disengage when he felt anger kicking in during an argument with someone. With people he liked, Andre would abruptly break it off, go somewhere else to cool off and thus stop himself from saying things he might not really mean.

And Andre liked his parents.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their concern for their son's future, concern Andre knew was genuine. It was mostly that Andre had gone through nearly twelve years of grade school without ever seriously considering what he'd do after senior year. Teachers, his guidance counselor, dumbass kids at school, even parents of his friends- they'd all ask him. Was he going to apply to this college, that university? Was he going to take a shot at West Point, or just enlist and join the Marines? What?

They all asked, and Andre was getting tired of fending them off with half-hearted answers. But there was more to it.

Andre didn't like being asked because he had no plans at all.

He wasn't doing anything after high school.

**XX**

"_Fucking_ shit," Andre swore as he tripped over a root he hadn't seen, nearly going face-first into the tree that owned it. "_Ass_hole," Andre hissed, kicking it uselessly. His foot hurt.

Andre worked his way along what looked like a footpath. Around here, there were areas in the woods where paths like this existed, made not by people- as you'd probably think- but by wildlife, namely deer. Andre had seen them many times out here, once you got far enough. Sometimes he'd mime raising a rifle, pretend to drop one of them with a .30-06 round.

But most of the time Andre let them go.

It was bullshit, really. These deer, they had hooves they could put a dent in Andre's skull if they decided to. They could've killed him if they wanted. But while they would never let Andre get close- they'd always run, especially if a fawn was with them, when Andre started towards them- they never harmed him or even gave a hint of wanting to try. Deer were like that.

Not people, though. They'd do so many other things, shit that made you wonder if animals weren't better, more deserving of the world after all. Even tigers and sharks only killed for a living. Andre had seen more than just killing on the news, though. People would be so narrow-minded and selfish, so bitter, selfish, and generally shitty to one another, it staggered the imagination. The human race seemed to have an unlimited capacity for pointless acts of cruelty, and a near-infinite amount of it could be done without so much as laying a hand on someone.

Andre walked. He was getting a clearer head now, somewhat. The fight with his parents seemed small and insignificant set against the big picture, the real things that made Andre truly angry. He'd come back home, later, and they'd talk things out some more. Maybe he'd get grounded, maybe not. But Andre didn't truly feel better, didn't feel at all at peace.

When he thought about the bigger picture like this, Andre would get furious. The stupidity, shitty attitudes, the pointless cruelty, the hate- there seemed to be no end to it. People did monstrous things to each other every day. In offices, on roads and highways, in houses and neighborhoods… and in hallways, and classrooms. Andre sometimes felt that between the news and his own experiences, even at sixteen- nearly seventeen- he had seen too much.

More than he'd ever wanted to. That was for _damn_ sure.

**XX**

There was something else, though, something that did give Andre some sense of contentment, a measure of peace. It was the one thing that never failed to calm him even when fury was coursing through him, so much hate Andre felt this hunger, this immensely powerful desire to just destroy everything. Kill mankind. Everyone, everything, to kill and burn and destroy until he had burnt the world to ashes around him.

Only one thing always calmed him at moments like that. One thing.

Zero Day.

Andre could hardly believe it. He and his best friend, Calvin Gabriel, were planning something. It hadn't been that long since the moment when they'd had their first real conversation about it. Andre remembered it like it was yesterday. They'd been talking about Doom, a mutual favorite among video games, a past-time both Andre and Cal had always loved. Andre, mostly out of frustration, had said, "I'd love to see Brad Huff get thrown into this, him and those asshole friends of his. See how fucking long _they'd_ last against the demons of Hell."

He'd been gunning down lesser demons as he said it, and Cal's odd silence had prompted Andre to pause the game.

That had led to one of the oddest, yet most… _fascinating_… conversations Andre had ever had.

They'd started out smiling, comparing the endless, drab halls of the early levels of Doom- halls in which it was practically impossible not to get lost- to the antiseptic, whitewashed halls of their high school. Comparing the jocks to demons, the preps to lesser demons, punctuating each comparison with a smile or a joke.

And then, suddenly, it had happened. Neither one of them had ever said something so obvious as, "Let's go shoot up our high school!" but the idea had clicked into place. Looking at each other, Andre and Cal had formulated the core of the plan at the same moment. The jokes and light-hearted smiles had died away, and in their place came a deadly seriousness concealed beneath calm conversation, a thrumming excitement telling each of the two teenagers of what lay beneath.

A burning desire for revenge.

And by the time Andre had gone home that night, the plan was in place. They'd actually shaken hands, laughing about the formality despite knowing what it was for. They didn't need to come right out and say anything. Both of them knew it was real.

**XX**

Life was better when you had a best friend.

Andre knew he had that in Cal. They had been good friends for a while already, but ever since the night when they'd made the pact, outlined the basic details and given the plan a name, Andre and Cal had been the best kind of friends there was. Close as brothers, thick as thieves.

It was while he was thinking about all this that Andre began passing into a grassy clearing, and stumbled as his left foot abruptly stepped into a hole nearly a foot deep.

"Shit!"

Andre went down on both knees, throwing his hands out to stop himself. Getting up, he lifted his left foot and stepped away from the hole, rubbing his knee and glaring at it. He wasn't angry at the hole, not really- he was angry at himself. How stupid could you be, to be walking along and just tripping over roots, stepping into holes- falling into traps your eyes had so clearly seen?

Then Andre's annoyance even at himself faded. Taking a better look around, Andre noticed how dark it had gotten. He had walked this far before, but not often. Maybe only once. He really wasn't even that sure of where he actually was anymore.

That was both good, and bad. Good because Andre knew, deep down, he wasn't quite ready to go home just yet. He still needed time, if only the time of the walk back. But that was where the bad came in- Andre couldn't start walking home if he didn't know where that was. It was startling; Andre realised he clearly hadn't been keeping track of how long he'd been walking.

Looking around, Andre saw a sloping hill on the other side of the clearing, and in the dim, fading light he thought he saw a house.

**XX**

It was a house, all right.

Dark, completely dark, and from the lack of traffic it couldn't be on a very frequently-used road. Andre shook his head in amazement as he made his way towards the place, which looked to be an older house- maybe very old- with a pale-colored paint of some kind on its wooden siding.

He was pretty sure he'd been out this far at least once; he knew that clearing behind him, at least. Climbing the sloping hill, crunching over piles of leaves, Andre stopped to look up at the darkened house in wonder. How had he never seen it before, if he'd walked this far from home so much as once?

The argument with his parents forgotten, the anger Andre had at so many bigger, more intangible things fading away as well, Andre slowly made his way up the hill, stepping up over the crest and heading across an unkempt, short backyard laden with leaves and slowly being encroached on by plants. Seeing the back door closed was no surprise, and probably it would be locked. Andre's curiosity was building by the second, though. For some reason, he had to get inside.

He needed to get in and look around. Andre needed to know if there was anything he'd been missing out on when he'd passed by here without even looking before. Maybe- probably- there was nothing. Andre knew of a place like this, out in some town in the Midwest where a friend of his had gone to boarding school for a year. Turned out it was just some abandoned house, not worth bothering with in the eyes of the owner, whoever and wherever they were, or the town's council. And until someone did decide what to do with it, nearby residents had apparently taken to using it as an unofficial dumping ground.

"Lots of junk in there," Andre's friend had said. "Fuckin' _tons_ of it, man, you couldn't see the floor sometimes. Couldn't fucking get in some of the rooms. But it was all worthless. Me and a few guys from that school, we snuck in there and looked around more than once, and it was a friggin' waste of time, man."

But Andre wondered if this was that kind of house. Probably yes, but maybe… maybe not.

_Never know until you try_, Andre thought, and laughed a little as he walked up to the back door. He reached for the tarnished brass doorknob, and Andre's breath went out in a rush when it turned easily in his hand and he pushed it in.

**XX**

The inside of the house was even darker than it had been getting outside, and Andre quickly found he needed to be very careful. Unused and neglected lawnmowers, bicycles, ancient-looking tube televisions with glass screens several inches thick, and other items of every description layered the floor.

Light shone in through those windows that were either not covered by thick cloths or drapes, or otherwise blocked by debris. A layer of dust and grime covered practically everything, making Andre wonder just what would happen if he were to trip and fall, or even simply sneeze.

At least it was cooler in here than it was outside- though upstairs might be different.

The size of the first room Andre reached, and the other two he was able to reach on the first floor- a third was completely blocked off, seemingly packed with debris- was smaller than the houses he was used to seeing. The dimensions of everything was smaller, use of space was more frugal. Instead of following the suburban custom of sprawling out and using more space than was necessary, this house's architect had set aside "just enough" space, resulting in squarer, smaller rooms and spaces.

The wooden stairs, which faced towards the back door Andre had come through, were snugly placed against one of the first room's four walls. The door at the top of the stairs was naturally closed, and it was pitch black up there. Andre was thankful the stairs seemed to be clear, because he wouldn't be able to see a damn thing if he went up to try opening that second door.

Which he went right ahead and did.

Walking quietly up the stairs, not wanting to give anyone passing by on the street reason to investigate, Andre tried turning the knob, but it wouldn't budge. Seeing the door not completely closed, Andre gave it a push- and it swung open on near-silent hinges.

Stepping through onto the tiled floor, the dark-haired teen was surprised to find it was practically black upstairs. Not one window was clear, and he struggled to find his way around, at one point tripping on something laying right in his path. Throwing his arms out as he fell, Andre succeeded only in bringing a set of pots and pans down with him.

"_Shit_!" he exclaimed as he hit the floor. Andre was sat still and silent for a few moments, listening. Nothing else happened, no sound from outside.

Getting up, Andre felt around a little, minimal night vision setting in. The square, metal object he'd pulled the pots and pans off of was an old stove. The thing he'd tripped on was an even older toaster. Continuing to cautiously look and feel his way around, Andre found countertops, cabinets, a sink that was as dry as the desert and probably had been for years.

At some point, this had been the kitchen. On the second floor? Well, it had been like that at this one place Andre's parents had rented on the beach in North Carolina. The kitchen had been upstairs, too, probably for the same reason as it seemed to be on the second floor here.

Andre didn't want to go on looking around in this near-total blackness. He could hardly see at all; even if there was anything to find he wouldn't notice it.

"Ah, the _hell_ with this," Andre muttered, and had just started to turn and retrace his steps back to the stairs when he noticed something off to his right, down a hallway leading out of the kitchen.

There was a dim, pale light coming from that direction. He could actually see, looking down that way.

The sense of curiosity, that desire to find out what was inside this house that had driven Andre here in the first place awoke again, clamoring loudly. _Go_, it said, _Go down that hall and find out what it is. Probably it's just the one window somebody left uncovered up here, in yet another room filled with junk_.

_But maybe_, Andre, found himself thinking in answer, _it isn't_.

But he had to know. Now, staring down that dimly lit corridor, moon-like light shining down it towards him… Andre knew he wasn't about to leave now. He had to go down that hallway first.

And see if it really held nothing at all.

**XX**

Andre walked slowly down the hallway towards that half-open door, his steps all but silent. He found himself feeling strangely afraid, nervous about what he might find. Even if it was nothing, which would be a big disappointment with all the fuss his mind was making about this.

But he had to know either way. Whatever state his imagination worked him into, Andre knew there would be no turning back.

No turning back, Andre thought, Is actually a pretty good motto for me. He had never much believed in it, after all. Though his life, Andre had always felt that you had to stick to your decisions, right or wrong. To stand by them, whatever they were. If you burned some bridges along the way, so what? It would only make you fight harder going forward, since you were unable to retreat.

The dark-haired teenager was nearly at the door now, moving along the left side of the hallway. He crept closer, his pace slowing as his heart-rate sped up. Finally, when he could stand waiting no longer, Andre moved forward and pushed the door open.

**XX**

"Oh, fuck _me_," Andre grumbled after a moment, giving the room a quick look around. This second-floor room, sure enough, was littered with dusty old stuff just like the rest of the rooms he'd seen. This time, the upper halves of both windows did give the room some light- and it was moonlight, a clear, full moon having come out. That pale light played over the stuff in this room, mostly furniture, and but it was all stacked around the edges of the room. Chairs, end tables, a sewing-machine desk, what looked like an old and probably very heavy piano.

And then Andre saw it.

Towering over everything around it, the path to it completely clear, was an ornate, golden-framed mirror. Old, possibly very old… and expensive. Andre shook his head in wonder, looking at it from the doorway. That mirror looked like it had been hand-crafted by a team of artisans, the best available at the time, and it was huge. It had to be ten feet tall.

Walking across the room to it, Andre stared up at the elaborately-carved arch that ran along the top of the mirror. It had old, Gothic-looking script on it, and as he got closer Andre brushed dust off it, trying to decipher the words.

"Erised Stra Ehru Oyt Ube Cafru Oyt On Wohsi", Andre read aloud, in the quiet, distracted voice of a boy who has begun talking to himself without realizing it. Then confusion set in, and Andre frowned. "What the fuck?"

Then, still trying to figure that out, Andre looked down into the mirror itself for the first time, into that smooth reflective glass that easily stood wider and taller than all of Andre did.

Suddenly, Andre jerked as if struck by a pin, whirled around to look behind him- he was no longer alone. He'd seen someone in the mirror, and it wasn't him, wasn't dressed at all the same. Somebody had crept in this dumpy old house and found him staring at this fucking mirror, and-

There was nobody there.

No one had found him, he was alone. Safe for now.

Heart thudding in his chest, Andre turned and looked back at the towering mirror. He forced himself to remain calm as he gazed at whoever was looking back. After a moment, shock jolted Andre as he realised. There was no mistaking that dark hair, though cut much shorter, no mistaking those dark, solemn eyes or that fiercely-determined expression. And though this image was a few years ahead, there was no mistaking that face, either.

Andre Kriegman was looking at himself.

**XX**

The dark-haired teenager stared into the mirror, absolutely mesmerized, as his eyes began to notice more things, taking in the details. A black dress jacket, tightly closed around the neck, golden emblems on the collar and ribbons lining the uniformed figure's left breast. Blue dress pants, lined on left and right with a vertical stripe of red. A black, gloss-brimmed dress cap, emblazoned at its peak by a gold globe and anchor. And on both broad, strong shoulders, the twin silver bars of a Captain in the United States Marine Corps.

It was him. Andre Kriegman. Several years older, sure, but it was him beyond a doubt. An officer, a Marine.

And, Andre noticed as he gazed with increasing pride on this image of himself, a decorated veteran, a war hero. He recognized the medal farthest to the left, that dark blue ribbon with a white vertical stripe, the ship on the cross hanging from it. A Navy Cross, the second-highest medal for valor in combat that Navy or Marine personnel could receive.

_That's me_, Andre thought in wonder, tracing every inch of that tall, fiercely-masculine figure with his eyes. _I'm a goddamn _Captain_ in the Marines_.

The figure stood motionlessly at attention, dark eyes staring ahead with fierce confidence, strength and courage. He was strong, this vision of Andre, and he was not somebody you fucked with. Swift, powerful, and no one could touch him.

As Andre watched, the figure reached to the left side of his waist, silently drawing a gleaming officer's sword and holding it barely an inch or two in front of his face. The sword shone like the mirror itself did, immaculately polished, held by a spotless, white-gloved hand.

It was too much, seeing himself like this. Andre's heart ached, and he felt himself wanting to cry, so great was the pain. What did this _mean_? Was this what he could've become, had things been different? Was this some future vision of him, a picture of another Andre from a different universe? One in which Andre Kriegman had joined the Marines and become this awesome figure of invincible, untouchable power and confidence?

The eyes were the worst. Behind the solemn, confident look Andre saw there, he could tell instantly that something else lay beneath.

In this image, in whatever he saw in this mirror, Andre Kriegman was happy. He loved who he was, loved what he was doing. It was beautiful, seeing himself like this. Having things he'd never had, things he would have cheerfully done most anything to get. Honor, physical strength, unshakable self-confidence, power and authority. The respect and admiration of others, and- quite probably- as much pussy as he could find time for.

Andre would've given anything for that- to actually be happy. He hadn't been able to say that about himself for a long time.

But Andre shook his head suddenly, confused by something else. Where was Cal?

As if in answer, the Captain Kriegman re-sheathed his sword and neatly stepped to his left, and someone else entered the mirror. A tall, pale-skinned blond, marked with that same near-perfect physical fitness and rock-solid confidence, stepped into the picture. He wore the same "dress blues" uniform, the same gloss-brimmed black cap. He'd given up his longer, messy blond hair, but seemed all right with that. It was Andre's brother in arms and- he just knew it- his executive officer in the Corps. It was First Lieutenant Calvin Gabriel, US Marines, wearing similar campaign and service ribbons to Andre on his left- and at the peak, a Silver Star.

In the eyes of those young men, in their early twenties and just starting out in life, Andre could see the fire of men who had been to Hell and back. In school, at the Academy, in OCS and finally in war. A war in which both had fought bravely, seen death and suffered together. Forming a bond harder than the strongest steel, a bond forged by the closeness that exists only in combat. Among brothers. And as for Cal's ranking one grade below Andre, a sight that bothered him at first- Andre slowly began to think that maybe, just maybe, Cal had turned down the offer of promotion so he could remain in the same company as Andre. It meant nothing to those men in the mirror, that difference in rank. They were equals, brothers. And always would be.

As Andre watched, the two Marines stood at attention, drew their swords and presented arms again. The synchronization between them, the execution of the "present arms" command silently given, was flawless. Awe-inspiring, just like the Marines themselves were.

**XX**

Andre ended up sitting down on the floor of that room, staring at the mirror, at times letting tears run silently down his face as he gazed at something he wanted so bad, words failed him completely. What was this? Was it just fantasy, was it a sign Andre was losing it and starting to see shit in mirrors that was never real? It made no sense, because Andre was sure Zero Day was what he wanted most. He would never deviate from it, never question his or Cal's decision. They would carry it out, mirrors or no.

But he stared at that mirror, hungering for what he saw there, unable to take his eyes away for even a moment. Those two Marine officers, war heroes and clearly enjoying life in a way they never had before… Andre wanted to step through the mirror's glass and become the man wearing those Captain's bars. He wanted to take Cal with him. But it was a goddamn mirror, unyielding glass like any other.

Andre stared, gazing into the mirror, completely unaware of the passing of time. He didn't give a damn what happened now. He'd sit here, gazing into that mirror, and he'd do it for eternity. It tormented him, what he saw, and yet it thrilled him. It saddened him and brought him incredible joy. Andre just couldn't bear to look away, not even for an instant.

When his Casio wristwatch went off, startling Andre out of his trance, he looked down at it and pressed the backlight button in its side. 00:00, the 24-hour time for midnight. He'd been here for… hours. Andre gradually realised his parents were likely becoming seriously worried now, wondering why their son had still not come home.

Regretfully getting up, groaning as he realised how stiff his legs were, Andre sadly looked back at the mirror. He didn't want to go, didn't want to step away for even a minute, for fear he'd never see something so beautiful ever again. But his parents were waiting, and he had to go home.

Across the room, Andre pulled his feet together and faced the mirror, going to the position of attention and saluting as best he knew how. The Andre and Cal in the mirror saw him, and they nodded. Cal winked, and Andre smiled.

"I'll come back," Andre promised them, and forced himself to turn and walk back out of the room.

**XX**

Andre returned home after midnight, and his parents were furious. Beneath that, though, they were scared, and their relief at his coming back meant Andre was only grounded for a week, to end just before his birthday. They talked for a while, and Andre apologized to his parents- though he knew he'd still be grounded.

The next day, Andre called Cal that afternoon, and told him everything that he'd seen the previous night. Cal seemed to think it was some joke or tall tale at first, but as Andre went into more detail and became more emotional, the doubt or amusement in the blond's voice died away.

They agreed that Andre would visit the house again, and this time Cal would be coming along. Andre couldn't wait. Would Cal see what Andre saw, see the two of them together as officers in the Corps? Would he see something else entirely? Andre wanted to know, wanted to know very badly.

He never got to find out.

By the time Andre's restrictions were lifted and he and Cal got going out to the house one night, they reached that room on the second floor to find nothing but ordinary furniture. The mirror was gone.

"You- you _believe_ me, don't you?" Andre asked, turning to Cal. "I wouldn't lie about this, man. I swear. I _wouldn't_."

"Andre," Cal said, looking solemnly back at his friend, "Of course I believe you. We don't even know _how_ to lie to each other."

"Thanks," Andre choked out. "Thanks man," and the two boys embraced fiercely. Andre wasn't going to write about this in his journal. He'd leave it out of the videos he and Cal planned to start taping, and even after Zero Day no one would ever hear of this. No one would believe Andre, anyway, even if he _did_ them.

But _Cal_ believed him. That was enough.


End file.
